My Lady
by PrettyPoppy
Summary: Arya Stark is determined never to fall in love. As far as she's concerned, love is a weakness, meant only for fools. But Gendry Waters just might change her mind.


Title: My Lady

Author: PrettyPoppy

Summary: Arya Stark is determined never to fall in love. As far as she's concerned, love is a weakness, meant only for fools. But Gendry Waters just might change her mind.

Author's Note: Although this story is technically a companion piece to "By the Old Gods," it was written as a standalone and can be read without any knowledge of the fic that inspired it. For those who have read "By the Old Gods," this story takes place between Chapters Four and Five.

* * *

Arya Stark hated weddings. It wasn't just that people tended to die at them. No, it was more than that. If there wasn't a death at a wedding, then there were just two lovesick fools embarrassing themselves as they fawned all over each other in front of their guests.

Arya had just left such a wedding. Sansa and Tyrion had been married in the godswood earlier that evening and were now in Sansa's solar making eyes at each other over their wedding feast. On either side of them, at opposite ends of the banquet table, Jon and Daenerys were doing the same, though their wedding wouldn't be for another fortnight. It was all rather revolting as far as Arya was concerned, and she had made her escape as quickly as she could.

Although Arya had refused to wear a gown to the wedding, she had conceded to leave Needle in her room. Now, she was headed to her bedchamber to retrieve it so that she could retreat to the quiet of the yard and practice her swordsmanship. She didn't really need the practice, of course, but she needed to work out some of her frustrations. She didn't understand why everyone around her seemed to be so obsessed with love and romance and carnal pleasures. They had just won a war, for godssakes. There were more important things to do than spend every free moment in bed.

As Arya neared her chamber, she suddenly heard footsteps behind her. She ducked around a corner and pushed herself up against the wall, disappearing into the shadows. She held her breath and listened to the sound as it drew closer. In an instant, she knew whose footsteps were trailing her. She would recognize those footsteps anywhere. She exhaled a long, steady breath, then turned her head to peek around the corner, catching sight of Gendry Waters just as he reached the door to her room.

Arya's heart skipped a beat as she stood there watching him. They had spoken very little since he had returned to Winterfell. He had tried to talk to her on more than one occasion, but she had always managed to avoid anything beyond a quick greeting and an even quicker goodbye. There was very little in life that scared Arya Stark anymore, but the idea of talking to Gendry Waters always made her feel uneasy. There was something about him that unsettled her, something she couldn't quite explain.

Gendry raised his hand and rapped on the door, waiting for an answer, but of course, there was none. He knocked again, and this time, when there was no reply, his eyes scanned the hallway looking for any sign of her.

Arya suddenly felt like a coward hiding there in the shadows, and she was no coward. Without another thought, she stepped out of the darkness, revealing herself.

When Gendry finally spotted her, there was a touch of amusement in his eyes. "Always the assassin, aren't you?" he said, shaking his head as if he should have known she'd been watching him the whole time.

"One can never be too careful," Arya replied. "Even here at Winterfell. Even at times of peace."

Arya wished she had retrieved Needle before Gendry had found her, not because she intended to use her sword against him, but because just having it by her side made her feel secure. She didn't like the way Gendry made her feel, vulnerable, anxious. It made her doubt everything she knew about herself.

"I couldn't agree with you more," Gendry said. "Though I thought perhaps for one day, you might actually let your guard down."

Arya squared her shoulders, raising her chin a little higher. "Never. I shall never let my guard down. I shall never be weak again."

There was a sudden sadness in Gendry's expression that Arya found quite disconcerting. It almost looked like pity, and she wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face by any means necessary.

"Being weak isn't a failing, you know?" he said. "Sometimes, you have to be strong to be weak, to be vulnerable. Sometimes, it's the bravest thing in the world you can do."

Arya snorted. "That is what the weak tell themselves, yes. I hope you're not so weak as to believe that. If you are, then you're not the man I thought you were."

Gendry shook his head. "You don't know what kind of man I am. You don't really know me at all. But I'd like to change that."

A spark of unease trailed down Arya's spine. Gendry Waters was the last person in the world she wanted to get to know better.

"You're leaving for King's Landing soon, aren't you? There's no point in me trying to get to know you better. I certainly don't have time for it. I have much more important things to do."

"Like what?"

"Like training. Just because the war is over doesn't mean that I can neglect my training. I must stay in top form if I am to remain here at Winterfell and protect my sister."

"In that case, let me help you."

Arya laughed. "You? Help me? You don't even carry a sword."

"True, but I can swing a war hammer better than any man in Westeros. Unless, of course, you only fight other swordsmen because you're afraid you don't stand a chance against any other kind of weapon."

"I can defeat anyone, no matter what kind of weapon they wield."

"Then prove it," Gendry said, cocking his head to the side in challenge. "Join me in the yard right now and prove that you can defeat me and my war hammer."

Arya narrowed her eyes at Gendry, examining him for a long moment. She was certain he was trying to trick her, that he had some ulterior motive, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what it was.

"Well?" he asked when she didn't answer. "Afraid?"

"I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of anything."

"Good. Then get your sword and meet me in the yard in a quarter of an hour."

Arya glared at Gendry. She didn't want to spar with him, no matter how much he insisted. All she really wanted was to go off somewhere alone with Needle and work out her own frustrations. But Gendry had backed her into a corner. If she refused to fight him, she would look like a coward and he would claim victory without her ever even raising her sword against him, and she simply couldn't allow that.

"Fine," Arya said grudgingly. "But once I put my sword to your throat, the fight is over and we never do this again."

"If you win. But if you lose—"

"I won't lose."

"But if you do—"

"I refuse to even acknowledge the possibility. I never lose."

The hint of a smile quirked Gendry's lips. "No, you never do, do you?"

There was a softness in his words that made Arya decidedly uncomfortable. His tone was so very much like the tone Tyrion used whenever he was admiring her sister. Arya had had enough of lovesick fools for one night, and she refused to believe that Gendry was one of them.

"I will meet you in the yard in a quarter of an hour," Arya said. "You have my word."

Gendry bowed his head to her in a gentlemanly fashion. "Until then, my lady."

Arya's heart beat faster, and not because she found his display of chivalry charming, but because she found it infuriating. But she never got the chance to tell him.

Gendry quickly righted himself and turned around, heading toward the Guest House, no doubt to retrieve his own weapon.

Arya exhaled a small sigh, her shoulders slumping with relief. She suddenly felt very small and unsure of herself. It had been a long time since she had felt anything but confident and determined. She wanted to blame Gendry, but she knew she could only blame herself. She was the one who was weak, and she needed to overcome her frailties before she faced him in the yard.

Once Gendry's footsteps could no longer be heard, Arya turned toward her chamber and slipped inside. She retrieved Needle and stood in the center of the room, closing her eyes and holding the steel in her hand reverently, feeling its weight, trying to ground herself. Needle was no ordinary sword. It was an extension of her very being. Her heart, her soul, coursed through its metal. She knew, even after she had left this world far behind, a part of her would still exist as long as Needle survived.

Arya stood there for a long time before she felt at ease again. She sheathed Needle, and finally left the room, intent on finding Gendry and proving to him that she was the superior fighter and that not the slightest weakness existed within her.

By the time Arya reached the yard, Gendry was already waiting there. Night had long since fallen, and the yard was dotted with myriad torches to chase away the darkness. Although there were a few guards manning the turrets above them, beyond that, the place was deserted.

Gendry stood in the center of the large space, tall and proud, his war hammer by his side. Although it was a large, imposing weapon, in his hands, it looked like a child's toy. He cut an impressive figure, and Arya's heart raced at the sight of him. It wasn't fear that made her heart beat faster. She knew fear, and this wasn't it. No, it was something else, something she couldn't name, but it troubled her just the same.

Arya did her best to shake off the feeling. She stepped into the yard, meeting Gendry where he stood. She was determined not to show the slightest sign of weakness. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" she asked, hoping he had somehow changed his mind, but knowing from the look in his eyes that he hadn't.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this." Although it was clear that he was talking about fighting her, there was something hidden beneath his words that she couldn't quite grasp.

Arya pushed the thought from her mind and unsheathed Needle. In the same instant, Gendry hefted his hammer into the air and got into position.

Their eyes locked, two soldiers on the battlefield, both ready to fight for the upper hand. Arya squared her shoulders and shored up her resolve. She would bring Gendry to his knees in no time at all and send him scurrying back to the keep in defeat.

Gendry moved first, swinging his hammer in her direction, but Arya easily sidestepped the attack, dancing around him as if she was floating on water. Gendry turned with her, careful not to give Arya his back even for a moment.

Arya smirked, appreciating the unexpected grace with which he moved. But she didn't let it distract her in the least. She examined Gendry closely, looking for any vulnerability she could exploit, carefully choosing her next move.

This time, Gendry waited for her to attack. Arya lunged forward, hoping to make a direct hit, but Gendry raised his weapon, blocking her assault. The force of his war hammer hitting her delicate sword sent a spike of pain reverberating down Arya's arm, but she shook it off. This wasn't the first time she had faced a weapon more powerful than her own. Might would not win this battle. Skill and instinct would. And Arya knew she was a far more experienced fighter than Gendry would ever be. He didn't have the experience or training that she did, and she knew there was no way he could win.

Arya pivoted on her feet, dodging right and sweeping Needle toward Gendry's flank, but he easily parried her attack, sending another wave of pain down her arm as her blade clashed with his war hammer. She winced before she could stop herself.

"Are you hurt, my lady?" Gendry asked, his voice heavy with concern.

Nothing he could have said could have angered her more.

Arya pulled her shoulders back and stood even taller, adjusting her grip on Needle, preparing to show Gendry that she could not be hurt by any man. She glared at him, knowing he could see the anger in her eyes but not caring in the least. She was no lady, and Gendry needed to stop treating her like one.

"I am perfectly fine," Arya said. "You cannot hurt me. No one can."

"Are you sure that's really true? I think Daenerys Targaryen has hurt you, hasn't she?"

Arya was startled by the question, and it took her a moment to reply. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Gendry lowered his hammer and casually hefted it in his hand as if the sword raised against him was no threat at all. "Just that it's obvious that you don't like her even though she helped us save Westeros from the Night King and she's about to become your cousin by marriage. It seems she must have hurt you a great deal for you to dislike her so much."

Arya tightened her grip on Needle, wondering if she should run Gendry straight through right then and there. She hated Daenerys Targaryen. It didn't matter that the Dragon Queen had helped them fight off the White Walkers or that Jon adored her. She was an outsider, an invader. She had come to Winterfell and taken everything of value, everything Arya loved, and Arya would never forgive her for it.

"She hasn't hurt me," Arya said, the anger in her voice clearly belying her words. "I just don't appreciate the fact that she thinks she can go wherever she wants and take whatever she wants. Her father may have been a king, but he lost the Iron Throne, and she has no more right to it than I do."

A soft smile touched Gendry's lips. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe. We're here to fight, not talk." She raised Needle a little higher. "So fight."

Gendry adjusted his grip on his weapon, hoisting it into the air and plunging it downward. It hit Needle hard, the impact once again shooting down Arya's arm, but this time, she ignored the pain. Before Gendry could raise his weapon again, she crouched down and swung low, but he easily avoided the attack, jumping a foot off the ground and leaving Arya to slice through air.

By the time she was upright again, Gendry was back in fighting stance, weapon at the ready.

"I know why you hate Daenerys Targaryen," Gendry said. "Even though it's been years, I know you, Arya Stark. I know what drives you, and I know what makes you feel pain."

"You don't know anything about me. I'm not the girl you knew on the road from King's Landing. I've changed."

"Not as much as you think you have. You're angry with the new queen, not because you despise who she is or what she stands for, but because you're jealous and that jealousy has poisoned you against her."

Arya laughed in mock amusement. "I'm jealous? And what, pray tell, would I have to be jealous about? Do you think I want the Iron Throne? Do you think I care about her dragons or her beauty? Because that is all she has, a throne she stole, two unruly dragons, and a beauty that will fade with time."

"And Jon."

The air rushed out of Arya's lungs as if she'd just been punched in the gut, and for a moment, her vision lost its focus. Had Gendry struck her at that moment, he would have brought her to her knees. He had hit too close to home, and his powers of perception had taken her breath away.

"Jon is my cousin," Arya said when she was finally able to fill her lungs with air again. "He is closer to me than he ever will be to Daenerys Targaryen. We grew up together. We're family."

Gendry relaxed his stance, lowering his weapon and staring into her eyes with a warmth of understanding that Arya found quite unsettling. "But she is also his family. And soon, she will be his bride. You don't hate Daenerys Targaryen. You hate the fact that she's taking Jon away from you. You waited years to see him again. And now that you're finally together, you're going to lose him, all because of our new queen. You're afraid she's replaced you in his affections, and that fear has wounded you deeply."

Arya refused to admit that anything Gendry had said was true. She hated Daenerys Targaryen for reasons that had nothing to do with Jon. She wasn't a jealous little girl. She was a strong warrior. And she didn't need Gendry Waters telling her how she felt about anything.

Arya refused to dignify Gendry's accusations with a response. Instead, she raised Needle again and planted her feet firmly on the ground. "Are we going to fight, or are you just going to talk all night?"

Gendry laughed. "We'll fight. I just wanted you to know that I understand, that's all."

"You don't understand anything. None of you do. Jon is my blood. I love him and he loves me, and no one can change that. Not even the Dragon Queen. What we feel for each other is real. It's familial love. Not the simpering kind of romantic love that Jon feels for Daenerys or Sansa feels for Tyrion. It's real, and even the Dragon Queen herself can't take that away from us."

Gendry raised his weapon again, getting ready to fight. "I never said she could."

"Then don't accuse me of being jealous. I'm not jealous. I just know what's mine, and I'm determined to fight for it."

"Oh, really?" Gendry raised a brow in challenge.

"Yes, really."

"That's something we have in common then."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that there's something I want too, and I'm not going to stop until I get it."

"And what is that?"

Gendry smiled to himself. "Defeat me, and maybe I'll tell you."

Arya lunged forward, thrusting her sword toward his heart, but Gendry countered the blow. She danced around him, hoping to put him off balance, but he was surprisingly agile for a man his size, and she couldn't unsettle him. They fought each other like warriors on the battlefield, striking, parrying, dodging. Arya's blood hummed in her veins as she tried to best him, but Gendry would not let her put her blade to his throat.

Arya had learned a long time ago never to fight angry, but she was angry now, and she couldn't back down. Despite what he'd said, Gendry didn't know her. He didn't know her any more than she knew him. They were strangers now, nothing more, and she didn't appreciate him sharing his opinions about her relationship with Jon. It wasn't his place, and she wanted to cut out his tongue so that in the future he would have to keep his opinions to himself.

They fought for more than a quarter of an hour, neither one striking a winning blow. After a particularly demanding maneuver to avoid getting crushed by Gendry's hammer, Arya put some distance between them, desperate to catch her breath. She held a fighting stance, but she was so far from Gendry that he couldn't have hit her if he'd tried.

Gendry swung his hammer across his body as if he was loosening up his arm. "Had enough?" he asked.

Arya forced herself to smile, though her heart wasn't in it. "I'll have had enough when you're on the ground begging for mercy."

"And what if I bring you to your knees, Lady Stark?"

"Don't call me that!" Arya was horrified by the tone of her own voice. She sounded like a petulant child. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, trying to restore some of her dignity.

"I'm sorry, Lady _Arya_," Gendry corrected with mock civility.

"What do you want?" Arya asked, her frustration finally getting the better of her.

"Why are you so horrified by the idea of being called a lady? Do you really think it's an insult?"

"Of course, it's an insult. My sister is a lady, and look at her, sitting in her solar, fawning all over her husband like a simpering fool. Why in the seven hells would I ever want to be called a lady?"

"I don't know," Gendry said with a shrug. "She seems pretty happy to me."

"That's because she's an idiot in love," Arya scoffed. "Promise me, if you ever see me making eyes at a man like that, you'll put me out of my misery."

Gendry laughed. "Ah, so now I see."

"Now you see what?" Arya finally lowered her sword and relaxed her stance, her eyes skewering Gendry to the spot.

"Why you ran out of your sister's solar so quickly just now."

"Of course, I ran out. Why would I want to spend the evening surrounded by a roomful of simpering fools when I could be out here doing something useful?"

Gendry began to amble about the yard, moving in a slow circle around Arya, but still keeping his distance. When he finally spoke, he completely disregarded everything she had just said. "So I suppose," he said thoughtfully as he moved behind her, "that means that the one thing Arya Stark is really afraid of is love."

Arya swung around to glare at Gendry.

He stopped, his expression almost serene in the moonlight.

"I'm not afraid of love," Arya protested. "I love my family—"

"But you're afraid of romantic love. You think it makes people weak, and you're afraid of being weak."

Arya instantly raised Needle, leveling the pointy end at Gendry. "Take that back."

"I will do no such thing," he said. "Every great warrior has their weakness. The Night King had Lightbringer. The Hound has fire. And you, Arya Stark, have love. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Arya gritted her teeth, angrier than she had been all evening. Suddenly, she wished she had never left Sansa's solar in the first place. She would rather have spent the entire night watching Sansa and Tyrion make eyes at each other than spend another moment listening to Gendry's nonsense.

"Raise your weapon," Arya said with deadly calm.

"But we weren't done talking."

"Raise your weapon." Her voice trembled slightly, her whole body shaking.

Gendry slowly lifted his hammer and got into position.

Arya was done talking. She was done with Gendry's attempts to analyze the inner workings of her mind, and she was done with trying to defend herself. She had come out into the yard to fight, and that's exactly what she was going to do. She was going to crush Gendry Waters, bring him to his knees, make him yield to her. She was going to punish him for what he'd said, for getting too close to the truth that was hidden so deeply in her heart.

Arya inhaled a slow, steadying breath. She concentrated on the feel of Needle in her hand, grounding herself in the moment, remembering everything Syrio Forel had ever taught her. She brought her body back under her own control before striking again, knowing that anger would only lead to defeat.

Metal clashed against metal as Arya and Gendry fought for dominance. Although his weapon weighed almost as much as she did, he wielded it with ease, meeting her blow for blow, avoiding her blade at every turn. Arya knew that Gendry wasn't a seasoned fighter, and it frustrated her to know that she hadn't already brought him down. But the problem wasn't Gendry, it was her. Gendry could have been the worst fighter in all of Westeros, and she still wouldn't have struck the winning blow. He had unsettled her since the moment he had stepped back into her life, thrown her off balance. And now, it was all coming out in the sparring yard. He had gotten into her head and rendered her finer skills all but useless.

Arya wheeled around Gendry, sweeping Needle in a long, graceful arc, hoping to nick his flank, but he sidestepped her attack, countering with his own. She easily avoided it, and they were once again at an impasse.

"When are you going to stop playing with me and fight for real?" Gendry asked.

Arya wasn't sure if it was a taunt or if he was being serious. She was fighting for real, even if it didn't seem like it. "When are you going to stop talking and finally strike a blow?"

"Oh, I'm waiting for you to draw first blood, Lady Arya. I may only be a blacksmith, but my father was a king, and I do believe in chivalry, which means it's always ladies first."

Had he said anything else, Arya could have kept her calm, but his words were enough to drive her over the edge. She screamed in frustration, racing towards him with her sword held high, determined to use her anger to make him finally shut his mouth.

Gendry, for all his casual nonchalance, was not prepared for Arya's wrath. She beat him back, striking her sword against his war hammer with all the rage that had been building up inside of her since the day Daenerys Targaryen had first come to King's Landing.

"I am not a lady," Arya said as she drove Gendry to the edge of the yard, their weapons clashing with every agonizing step. "I do not need your chivalry or your concern. I do not need you to hold back in battle. I am more than capable of handling myself."

Arya shoved against Gendry with all her might, and even though he was twice her size, he fell back against the wall behind him. He lowered his hammer to his side, and Arya raised Needle to his throat. She didn't even bother to wonder why he had stopped fighting. Her mind was too clouded by the anger coursing through her veins.

"Do you want me to draw first blood now?" she asked, pressing the edge of her blade into his skin. "Or should I just slice out your tongue instead so that you can keep your unwanted opinions to yourself, so that you can never call me _my lady_ again.

Gendry shook his head, and had she been pressing any harder against his neck, she would have broken the skin. "No, you needn't do that."

"What do you want from me, Gendry? I know you want something. What is it? To make me feel small? To defeat me in battle?"

For the first time that night, Arya saw fear flit behind Gendry's eyes, but she wasn't sure why. They both knew she wasn't going to hurt him. She couldn't. Even though she was angry, Gendry was still her friend, and she would never do anything to purposefully hurt him, no matter how much his words had wounded her.

"If I told you," he replied, his voice strained by the sword at his throat, "you_ would_ kill me."

A sense of dread suddenly gripped Arya's heart. Had Gendry betrayed her somehow? Had he done something unforgivable? She refused to believe that there was anything in the world that could make her turn against Gendry, but the fear in his eyes told her that perhaps she was wrong.

"Tell me," she said, her voice low, her words hollow.

Gendry swallowed, the blade sinking deeper into his skin. "Love," he said. "I want your love."

Arya stared at him, unable to breathe or think. Her limbs began to tremble, but she barely noticed. She wanted to believe that Gendry was joking, that it was all some silly farce, but she could tell by the pained look in his eyes that he had meant every word. He wanted her to love him. The way Sansa loved Tyrion. The way her mother had loved her father.

Arya lowered her sword and took a step back, her eyes never leaving Gendry's. She had no idea what to say to him. Only fools fell in love, and she had never taken Gendry Waters for a fool.

Gendry reached up and rubbed his neck, his eyes still locked with Arya's. "I'm surprised you didn't kill me for that."

"What the fuck are you thinking?" It was the only thing Arya could think to say. "What is wrong with you? How could you say such a thing?"

"I said it because it's true."

Arya shook her head. Her heart was beating wildly, and the blood was pounding in her ears. She didn't want to have this conversation with Gendry. She didn't want to believe that, after all this time, he was no better than anyone else. "Are you saying you love me?" she asked, the words hard with accusation.

"I am. I love you, Arya Stark. I always have."

Arya's fingers tightened around Needle, and she was tempted to put Gendry out of his sad, pathetic misery. But she knew that wasn't the answer. The war was over, she was back home at Winterfell, the time for killing was long past. Besides, even though Gendry was an idiot, he was still her friend.

Arya sheathed Needle, certain that they were done fighting. "You're a fool," she said. "You know that, don't you?"

"I'm not a fool. I'm honest about what I feel and who I feel it for. I don't lie to myself like you do."

"I don't lie to myself about anything!" Arya snapped.

"Don't you?" Gendry finally stepped away from the wall, and Arya instinctively took a step back. "You refuse to admit that you're jealous of the new queen, even though it's obvious to everyone who looks at you."

"Fine," she said, "you're right. I hate Daenerys Targaryen because I'm jealous of her, because I don't want her to take Jon away from me. All right? Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"It's a start."

"What do you want from me, Gendry? And if you say my love—"

"You'll what? Kill me? We both know that isn't true."

He took another step forward, and then another, and Arya continued to retreat. He was getting too close, far closer than he had been when they'd been fighting, and it was making her uncomfortable. Now, she wished that she still had Needle in her hand just so she could keep some distance between them.

"I'm not going to give you what you want," Arya said as she continued to back away. "I'm never going to give you what you want."

"Why?" Gendry asked, still moving steadily toward her.

"Because love is a weakness, and I am not weak."

"So it's not because you don't love me then?"

Arya nearly jumped as she felt something at her back. She realized, too late, that it was one of the wooden posts beneath the covered bridge. Gendry had driven her clear across the yard, and she had run out of room to retreat. He was bearing down on her with unrelenting determination. He wanted an answer, and she didn't have an answer to give.

Arya inched her chin higher. "Of course, I don't love you. Don't be ridiculous."

Gendry moved in closer. He discarded his hammer on the ground beside him and rested his other hand on the post just above her head. He stared down at her with dark, soulful eyes, and Arya's breath suddenly caught in her throat.

"I think you're lying again," Gendry said softly.

"I'm not lying." But even as she said it, she wasn't sure that it was the truth. There had been a time, many years ago, when she had looked at Gendry with something akin to longing, but as the years had passed, she'd forgotten all about it, been distracted by other things. But now that they were finally alone together, Gendry so close that she could feel his breath fluttering against her cheek, she was starting to remember those girlhood longings, those moments when she had looked at Gendry with something much deeper than friendship.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

Arya refused to concede that Gendry was right. She would not, she could not, admit that she had ever felt anything beyond friendship for him. To do so would be to admit that she was weak. To do so would be to admit that she was no better than Sansa and Tyrion or Jon and Daenerys. They were all a bunch of lovesick fools, and she was terrified of becoming one of them.

But she couldn't leave Gendry waiting forever. She had to do something to avoid answering him because the truth wasn't something she was ready to face. And so she did the only thing she could think of in that moment. She leaned up on her toes, closed her eyes, and kissed him.

In an instant, Gendry's arms were around her, pulling her tightly against him. He kissed her with a fervor she had never expected, devouring her mouth as if he were starving for her.

Without thinking, Arya wrapped her arms around his neck, gliding her fingers through his short-cropped hair, reveling in the feel of just being able to touch him. She had never been kissed before, had never even imagined what it would feel like. The blood was thrumming in her veins, and she felt like she was floating. In the span of a single moment, she finally understood what it was that drew Sansa to her marriage bed, what made women swoon when men took them in their arms. It was a weakness, she had no doubt, but she was beginning to think that it was a weakness that she was more than willing to suffer.

Arya could have stayed that way forever, but eventually, Gendry ended the kiss, pulling back just far enough to catch his breath. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered Arya to her feet, but he didn't let her go.

Arya opened her eyes and looked up at Gendry, entranced by the desire she saw in his gaze. He didn't just love her, he wanted her. He wanted her as a man wants a woman, and Arya was stunned silent. She had only kissed Gendry to avoid answering his question. She hadn't imagined that by doing so, she'd be conceding defeat. But it was obvious that she had. Suddenly, she wanted Gendry as much as he wanted her, and she didn't feel the least bit sorry for it.

Arya reached up on her toes again, capturing his lips before he could say a single word. Gendry slipped his hands beneath her backside and hoisted her upward so that he didn't have to lean so far down to kiss her. Arya hooked her legs around his waist and clung to him even tighter, lost in the feel of his body pressing so intimately against hers. She could feel his cock, hard between her legs, and she wondered if he would try to take her right there in the yard. Of course, by all rights, if he even tried, she knew she should gut him through, but she wouldn't because she wanted him to try. Dear gods, how she wanted him to try!

Without thinking, Arya reached down between them, fumbling with the ties at his breeches, hoping to set him free. But Gendry quickly put an end to her efforts, breaking the kiss and lowering her to the ground.

"What are you doing?" she scolded, her fingers returning to his breeches, determined to take what was hers.

Gendry grabbed both her wrists, stilling her hands and forcing her to look up at him. "You may look like a little warrior," he said through ragged breaths, "but you are still a lady. I cannot disgrace you by taking you right here in the yard."

"Why not? There's no one around. Everyone's in the keep at Sansa's wedding feast. No one will know or care."

She tried to break free of his grip, but he was far stronger than she was, and she could not slip his hold.

"I'll know, and I'll care," he said. He let go of her left wrist and raised his hand to gently caress her cheek. "This isn't how I want it to be, Arya. This isn't how I've always imagined it."

Arya snorted derisively. "Now you sound like Sansa, like a lovesick maid. Not like a man at all."

But Gendry took no offense at the slight. He knew Arya far too well to be fazed by her insults. "I want to make love to you properly, Arya Stark. In my bed, beneath the furs."

Arya's heart thudded against her ribs, and she suddenly forgot how to breathe. He was completely serious. He wanted to take her back to the keep, burrow beneath the covers with her, and make love to her as if she were his lady. He thought so much of her, admired her, loved her. It was all there in his eyes, as clear as the stars above them.

"If I thought you'd have me," he said, "I'd ask you to be my wife first, but I know that's not what you want. But at the very least, tonight, I'd like to love you."

Arya swallowed the lump in her throat. If Gendry had asked her to marry him at that moment, she might have accepted, if only because she was no longer in her right mind. There was a need burning deep inside her that was clouding everything else around her, her judgment, her wants, her fears, her desires. Everything. Gendry could have asked her to put down her sword and spend the rest of her life bearing his children and cooking and cleaning for him, and she might have said yes, if only to quench the fire that threatened to consume her.

But he hadn't asked, and she was glad. She had no intention of swearing her life away to anyone. Not even Gendry Waters. Not even knowing the way he could make her feel. She wanted him, but she wasn't ready to give her whole life to him. Not yet.

Arya couldn't answer Gendry with words. Instead, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, leaning into him. He brushed his lips against hers with a tenderness that made her heart ache. When he finally pulled back, she looked up at him again, and she knew he could read her answer in her eyes. She was done fighting, done hiding, done pretending that she was no one. For once, she wanted to be who she really was, she wanted to be Arya Stark of Winterfell. And she wanted Gendry Waters to make love to her.

Gendry slipped his hand into hers and then bent down and picked up his hammer. He turned around and led Arya toward the keep, their hands clasped between them, her heart beating to the rhythm of their footsteps as they made their way to the Guest House.

Arya was grateful that Gendry had not tried to take her back to her own chamber. She didn't want Sansa to know what she was doing, and if she and Gendry made love in the main keep, Sansa would hear about it for certain. But Sansa had no interest in what went on in the Guest House. And why should she? She was too enraptured with her own lover to care what her guests were doing. No, it was better this way. Arya could take what she wanted from Gendry and then quickly slip back to her own room with no one the wiser.

They reached Gendry's chamber without passing another living soul, and as soon as they were safely behind closed doors, Gendry was kissing her once more.

Arya's hands moved to the back of his neck, and he lifted her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist again. He carried her to the bed as if she weighed nothing at all, and before she knew what was happening, she was lying across the mattress, flat on her back, Gendry kissing her senseless.

Arya let go of his neck, slipping her hands between them and fighting to untie his breeches. This time, he didn't stop her. He let her do as she pleased while his own fingers worked the ties of her leather tunic, his hands grazing her breasts as he moved.

The contact sent a shock down Arya's spine, causing a flood of warmth to pool between her legs. She swore as she continued to struggle with his breeches, her fingers fumbling wildly in her eagerness to set him free.

Finally, the ties gave way, and Arya pushed Gendry's breeches down over his hips, moving them just low enough to release his cock. Her hands were instantly upon him, stroking his hard, heated flesh with greedy fingers.

Gendry groaned. He tore his mouth away from hers and settled his head against her shoulder, kissing her neck. He pulled the ties of her tunic free and pushed the fabric aside, slipping one hand beneath her leathers and kneading her breast, his skin hot against her own even through the linen of her undertunic.

Arya threw her head back and moaned wantonly, arching off the bed, pushing her flesh deeper into his hand. Her skin flushed warmly, and her body ached with need. She wanted Gendry inside her, sooner rather than later, but she couldn't catch her breath long enough to tell him.

Her hand stilled on his cock as his lips moved lower, kissing a path down her neck to her breasts. He pulled one nipple into his mouth, not caring in the least that it was still covered by her linen tunic.

A strangled sob escaped Arya's throat, and she squirmed beneath Gendry, trying to make closer contact. She had never imagined what it would feel like to have a man touch her in such a way. Before she'd left Winterfell, she'd been nothing but a little girl, a little girl who had always shunned feminine things because she'd hated the idea of having anything in common with her sister. She had never dreamed about love or marriage or romance. And then, when she'd finally been old enough to want such things, she'd cared far too much for swords and bloodshed than she ever had for sexual pleasure. But now, she knew what she'd been missing all along, and she had no regrets about letting Gendry take what he wanted from her.

Arya finally let go of his cock and trailed her hands up his back and into his hair. She held him as close to her as she possibly could, silently letting him know that she wanted more.

Gendry reached up between them, tugging at the cord that held her undertunic together and pulling it free. He finally broke away, leaning back just far enough to push the fabric aside and expose her small but eager breasts.

He stared at her naked flesh, devouring her with hungry eyes. Arya's skin flushed under his scrutiny, and she suddenly felt insecure. She knew she didn't have the most feminine figure. She wasn't curvy and buxom like the whores she had seen in Essos. But Gendry didn't seem to mind. Soon, he was touching her again, kissing her with unabashed desire, and Arya's insecurities melted into nothingness.

She wanted him so desperately, needed him so desperately. She tried to slip her hands between them again, to rid Gendry of the rest of his clothing, but he was just too close. She wanted to see all of him. She wanted him naked so she could run her hands over his body and explore his flesh the way he was exploring hers.

Arya put her hands on Gendry's shoulders and pushed him back. He looked up at her in surprise, as if he couldn't understand why she had pushed him away. Without a word, Arya reached up between them and started untying his leather tunic, but she was too excited, and her fingers trembled as she struggled to make purchase.

Taking pity on her, Gendry leaned back, sitting up straight as he rested on his knees so he could work the ties himself. The second the cord gave way, he shucked off his leathers, his linen tunic soon following. For a moment, he just sat there, letting her eyes roam over his body in silent awe. He was magnificent! Arya's mouth went dry as she stared at him for one heart-stopping moment. He was strong, powerful, masculine. Years at the anvil had molded him into nothing short of perfection, and her fingers itched to touch him. He was everything a man should be, and for the life of her, she couldn't understand why he wanted her in his bed.

"What's wrong?" Gendry asked, clearly sensing her insecurity.

Arya shook her head. "I don't understand you."

"What don't you understand?"

"You say you love me. You say you want me—"

"I do love you. And I do want you."

"But why? Why? Look at you. You're the kind of man who should be bedding a beautiful woman right now. You're more suited to my sister than you are to me. I don't understand—"

But Gendry didn't let her finish. In a heartbeat, he was lying on top of her again, his lips silencing all her fears.

When he ended the kiss, he stayed close, hovering just above her as he said, "I love you, Arya Stark. Not your sister. Not any other woman. You. You're a marvel to me, a revelation! Your strength, your beauty, your will. Everything about you makes me love you. You are the strongest, bravest, most beautiful woman I have ever known, and I have loved you for so long that I can scarcely remember a time when I didn't. Don't ask me why I love you as if you can't understand why any man would. You're a woman, Arya Stark. Beneath your fighting leathers and behind your sword, you're still a woman, and I've never seen you as anything else."

Arya's heart caught in her throat as she stared up at Gendry, suddenly speechless. Tears threatened behind her eyes, and she fought to keep them from falling. Gendry had meant every word he'd said. He loved her for who she was. He saw her as more than a fighter or an assassin. He saw her as a woman.

Arya couldn't bring herself to say a single word. Instead, she wrapped her hand around the back of Gendry's neck and drew him to her, kissing him with raw passion. She couldn't tell him that she loved him. She just couldn't. The idea was so foreign to her that she didn't even know what it would feel like if she did love him. But she could show him how she felt, and he could decide for himself what it meant. She would show him just how much she wanted him, just how much she cared for him. She would show him until the last of her energy was spent, until she didn't have the strength to do anything but fall asleep in his arms.

Gendry kissed her just as fiercely, his hands skimming down her body as he tried to push her clothes aside, but even though he had managed to open her tunic and expose her breasts, she was still nearly fully clothed.

Arya couldn't endure anymore. She wanted to feel all of him against her, flesh on flesh. She tore her lips from his and pushed him back again, squirming out from under him before he could stop her. She was on her feet in a moment, pulling at her clothes, trying to discard them as quickly as she could.

Gendry wasted no time in joining her. He climbed off the bed, standing beside her as he rid himself of the rest of his clothing.

As soon as Arya was naked, she looked up at Gendry again only to find him staring at her. A deep blush heated her skin as his eyes took in every last inch of her. There was appreciation in his gaze, appreciation and desire, and it only intensified her need. Although she was still very much a maid, she knew what she wanted from the man standing before her. She wanted him to push her down onto the bed and impale her with his cock. It was all she wanted, all she could even think about.

Arya couldn't wait any longer. The instant Gendry's eyes met hers again, she was on him, wrapping her hands around his neck as he hoisted her upward so he could reach her mouth. They kissed passionately as Arya hooked her legs about his waist and Gendry spun her around so he could lower her onto the mattress. This time, he made sure that she was lying properly on the bed, her head resting against the pillow.

Gendry kissed her until she was breathless, and when he finally pulled back, she was captivated by the desire she saw in his eyes. She hoped, she prayed, it wouldn't be much longer. If he refused to give her what she wanted soon, she'd have no choice but to force him onto his back and take it.

"I love you, Lady Arya Stark," Gendry whispered. "I love you."

Arya's lips quirked in challenge. "Then prove it."

Gendry kissed her again, hard and fast, before skimming his lips over her cheek and down her neck. His hands explored her body as his mouth teased her flesh, overpowering her senses with unimaginable pleasure. She could feel his cock against her stomach, and she wanted it lower, but Gendry was taking his time with her. Too much time, for Arya's liking. She dug her fingers into the firm muscles of his back, silently begging him to relent. But he just groaned and slipped one hand between her legs.

Arya's eyes widened in shock. Although she'd thought herself fully prepared for Gendry's attentions, she had never expected it to feel so good when he finally touched her there. He traced his fingers lightly along her heated flesh, causing her to whimper with need.

Arya couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so helpless. She wanted what she knew only Gendry could give her, and she wanted it now!

"Please, Gendry. Please." She sounded so desperate, so pathetic, but she couldn't stop herself. She needed him so badly.

Gendry slipped a single finger between her folds, rubbing it against the little nub at the apex of her sex, and Arya nearly bolted off the bed. She had never felt anything so glorious in all her life. Her eyes closed, and her head fell back, and all she could feel was the intense pleasure radiating from that single, wondrous spot.

As he increased the pressure between her legs, Gendry's lips trailed along her collarbone and to her breasts. He played with one aching nipple, licking it, sucking it, as his finger continued to move against her, and it was nearly Arya's undoing.

During her time in Essos, she had seen whores in brothels writhing beneath the men they were servicing, screaming and moaning as if they might die if they didn't come. She'd always thought they were faking it. But now, she was starting to wonder if not all of them had been faking it because she couldn't stop the cries of ecstasy pouring from her own throat.

"Oh, fuck, yes," she managed through shuddering breaths, the words barely a whisper on her lips.

Gendry smiled against her breast, in obvious satisfaction. Then, he lightly nipped at the tender bud in its center, causing a fresh wave of heat to pulse between her legs.

While his finger continued to stroke the aching nub hidden between her folds, he slid another finger along her length, rubbing against her entrance, but not pushing inside. Arya thrust her hips upward, trying to coax him to penetrate her, but he held back. Instead, he increased the pressure of his strokes, and Arya suddenly lost the ability to think.

She rocked her hips against his hand, striving for release. She wanted it so badly, needed it so badly. Every muscle in her body tightened in anticipation as she fought to take what she wanted.

Gendry pulled away from her breast, but Arya was barely conscious of it. His hand continued to move against her in a frenzied rhythm, and that was all that mattered. Her pulse quickened and her breath hitched as she began to plummet over the edge. All at once, a great wave of pleasure washed over her, and she bucked wildly beneath him, her body trembling with release.

Gendry slipped his hand from between her legs, and Arya collapsed against the bed, lying deathly still as she struggled to catch her breath. She lay there for a long moment, her eyes closed, her heart beating out of her chest, trying to come back to earth. She could barely think or move or breathe.

Gendry stayed quiet as he waited for her to open her eyes, and suddenly, Arya was afraid to look at him. Her desire had already been satisfied, and she could feel the strength slowly draining from her limbs as her body succumbed to exhaustion. All she really wanted was to lay there and fall into a deep, sated sleep, but she knew Gendry was waiting for her. He had given her what she wanted, and now, she had to give him what he wanted. It was only fair.

Reluctantly, Arya opened her eyes and looked at Gendry. He was lying on the bed beside her, propped up on one elbow, staring down at her with something akin to admiration in his eyes. And Arya felt surprisingly mortified.

She stared back at him, fighting the urge to look away, practically daring him to speak. "I suppose you're just waiting to fuck me now, aren't you?"

A gentle smile played across Gendry's lips. "No."

"So you're not going to fuck me?"

"I must admit, I would love nothing more than to make love to you tonight, but if you're not ready—"

"No," Arya said, straightening her shoulders in determination even though she was still lying flat on her back, "if my sister can do it, so can I."

"It's not a contest. You don't have anything to prove. If you want me to stop, I'll stop, right now. I have what I want. I don't need anything else."

Arya was startled by his words. As kind as Gendry was, he was still a man, and men had needs. She had touched him, teased him, encouraged him. She was certain that if she glanced down between his legs, she'd find his cock still ready for her. He had every right to demand that she make good on her implied promises. He had every right to fuck her. So why was he holding back? What more could he possibly want from her?

"I'm no tease," Arya said. "You've given me what I want, and now, I'll give you what you want."

"Really?" Gendry cocked a brow in question.

"Really."

"Good. I'm happy to hear you say that."

Arya expected Gendry to get on top of her and push himself inside at that very moment, but he didn't. He just continued to stare at her as if he was waiting for something.

"Well?" Arya snapped, her patience growing thin. "What are you waiting for?"

"You said you were going to give me what I want."

"Yes, I did. So take it. Take what you want from me. Fuck me and go."

Gendry shook his head. "That's not what I want from you."

Arya's heart thumped wildly. "What . . . what do you want from me?"

"I think you already know."

Arya couldn't say another word. She just stared up at Gendry, his thoughts clearly evident in his eyes. There was only one thing he really wanted from her, and it had nothing to do with what was between her legs.

"I can't," she said, barely able to form the words.

"Why not? Because you don't love me or because you're afraid to admit that you love me?"

Arya's whole body began to tremble, and more than anything, she wanted to run. But she wasn't a coward. She had never been a coward. And yet, her feelings for Gendry terrified her. Gendry made her feel something that no one else had made her feel in a long time. He made her feel weak, and Arya hated feeling weak. She didn't want to examine her feelings for him too closely, didn't want to admit that there was even the slightest possibility that she was in love with him. Love was for fools like Sansa and Tyrion, but not for her.

Arya raised her chin a little higher, her head moving farther back on the pillow. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Well, then, what's your answer?"

Her heart pulsed in her ears as she stared up at Gendry, wanting to tell him that she didn't love him, but knowing that she couldn't lie. Lies were for Lannisters, not for Starks. She could lie when she was wearing someone else's face, but she couldn't lie when she was herself, especially not to a friend. But she couldn't tell him the truth either.

"Why does it even matter?" Arya asked. "You're just going to believe what you want to believe anyway. Even if I deny loving you, you'll just think that I'm lying, so I might as well not bother denying it at all."

Gendry laughed softly. "Is that the best you can do, Lady Arya?"

"Don't call me Lady Arya," she warned darkly, "or I'll leave this bed this very instant."

"I'm sorry, Arya Stark of the Faceless Men."

"That's better."

Gendry finally broke her gaze, his eyes skimming down the length of her naked body, and Arya flushed with warmth from her head to her toes. When Gendry looked up at her again, the desire in his eyes was unmistakable, and a fresh flood of warmth pooled between her legs. In an instant, she wanted him again, and she began to suspect that the only reason he'd kept her talking for so long was to give her time to recover.

Gendry's gaze fell to her mouth, and Arya's lips suddenly went dry. She flicked her tongue out to moisten them, and Gendry groaned with need. Before she could say another word, he closed the distance between them, capturing her mouth and delving his tongue inside.

Arya's hands instantly went to his hair, pulling him even closer as her body leaned into his, desperate to make contact.

Gendry shifted his weight on the bed and nudged her legs apart with his knee, settling himself above her. She could feel his cock pressing against her belly again, and this time, she wasn't going to let him go until he'd thrust inside her and finally claimed her for his own.

Gendry kissed her until she could barely breathe. Then, he pulled back, hovering above her, staring deeply into her eyes. "This might hurt," he said, concern furrowing his brow.

Arya shook her head. "No, it won't."

There was a momentary look of surprise behind his eyes, surprise and . . . disappointment. Leave it to Gendry Waters to want her to be a virgin. Arya nearly rolled her eyes. Men were so ridiculous.

"You've done this before?" he asked, barely able to keep the disbelief from his voice.

"No, but I'm sure my maidenhead broke long ago. I am trained in combat, remember? I don't spend my days doing needlework and serving tea. Besides, my cunt's so wet I could probably fit a whole army in there and not even feel it."

Gendry cringed, and Arya finally did roll her eyes.

"Why do you have to be such a girl?" she said.

"And why do you have to be such a man?"

But for once, Arya didn't want to be a man. For the very first time in her life, she wanted to be a girl, she wanted to be a lady, she was just too afraid to say it. So she did the only thing she could do. She snaked her hand up behind Gendry's neck, pulled him to her, and kissed him.

Gendry chuckled at her show of force, but he made no protest. In a heartbeat, he was kissing her again, deeply, passionately. Without breaking contact, he pulled back just enough to reposition his cock between her legs, and Arya groaned into his mouth. She surged her hips upward, pushing the tip of his hard, throbbing flesh between her folds. It nuzzled against her opening, and she suddenly thought she might die.

Without any warning, Gendry pulled back his hips and then thrust forward, driving himself deep within her. Arya gasped, tearing her mouth from his, her eyes flashing open as she stared up at the ceiling in sightless wonder. He felt so hot and heavy inside her. He filled her up completely, and for a moment, she was stunned by the invasion. She had never had anyone or anything inside her before, and it felt foreign and frightening and wonderful.

Gendry stayed perfectly still while Arya adjusted to his size. She had always been a slight creature, and he was a man full-grown, with the cock to prove it. She was surprised, in fact, that she'd been able to accommodate him so well. But she had, her body knowing what she was capable of far better than she knew herself.

When Arya had fully recovered from the initial shock, she lowered her eyes and looked at Gendry again. He was staring down at her with genuine concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Her answer was little more than a breathless whisper, "Never better."

The hint of a smile ghosted Gendry's lips as he leaned forward and kissed her softly. Then, he released her mouth, leaning back and staring into her eyes. Slowly, he began to move, pulling his hips back and then pushing them forward, thrusting deep within her.

The feel of him moving inside her was exquisite, more wonderful and magical than Arya could ever have imagined. Their eyes locked in silent solidarity, he continued to undulate his hips, deepening their connection with each thrust.

Soon enough, the ecstasy began to consume her, and Arya closed her eyes, losing sight of Gendry. She leaned her head farther back on the pillow, her body arching off the bed, desperate to be closer to him.

Gendry quickened the pace, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts, as his own feelings overwhelmed him. In a single moment, they had become one. One flesh, one heart, one soul. Although they were not wed, no septon had said the words of blessing, they had never petitioned the old gods for their approval, their union felt as strong and as binding as any blessed by the gods above. For a single moment in time, they were one person, one soul, striving for something so beautiful and glorious that it transcended all worldly concerns. Arya had never felt more alive, and nothing in her life had ever felt more right.

Gendry leaned closer, and Arya instinctively wrapped her arms around him, her hands kneading his shoulders in desperation. She needed him. She wanted him. And she didn't know how much longer she could last.

Arya knew Gendry was going to make her come a second time, and this time, it was going to be even more earth-shattering than the last. Earlier, he had only fondled her, but now, he was thrusting inside her, pushing her down into the mattress, overpowering her with his raw, masculine strength, and all of it made her want him even more. Her body was poised on the brink, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she crashed over the edge.

"I love you, Arya," Gendry whispered against her neck, his voice hoarse, his breathing frantic. "I love you so much, my lady. My lady."

Arya's heart swelled beneath her breast, her hands moving to his hair, pulling him even closer. Suddenly, she didn't mind being called _my lady_. It wasn't an insult. It wasn't said in jest. It was a blessing, a prayer, an endearment. Because that's how Gendry saw her. He saw what no one else ever had or ever could. He saw all of her, the warrior and the woman. And he loved all of her, and Arya couldn't keep the tears from her eyes as she lay there beneath him, realizing, for the first time, just how much that meant to her. Gendry was the only person in the entire world who knew who she really was, and Arya loved him desperately for it.

Arya shuddered as an unbidden sob escaped her throat. She prayed that Gendry hadn't noticed. She didn't want him to think that she was crying because she regretted giving herself to him. She didn't want to give him any reason to stop.

But he did stop. He pulled back, just far enough to look down at her, his dark eyes desperately searching her face. "What's wrong?"

Arya raised her hand and swiped the tears from her cheek, hoping to hide them even though she knew he had already seen them. "Nothing."

"I should stop."

Gendry moved to pull away, but Arya gripped his shoulders, halting his retreat.

"No," she said. "Don't stop."

"But you're crying. Clearly, something's hurt you."

The tears threatened to fall again. "Nothing's hurt me. I promise."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying. Crying's for girls, and as you said, I'm not a girl."

A slow, gentle smile spread across Gendry's lips. "You're right. You're not a girl. You're a woman. And if you're crying, you must have a good reason."

_You're a woman._

Gendry's words replayed themselves in Arya's head, so startling and unexpected that, for a moment, she couldn't even speak. It took great effort for her to finally reply. "I have a very good reason," she said. "I'm happy. And it is a rare thing for me to be happy these days. I just couldn't stop myself." A fresh tear rolled down her cheek, and she feared, if she wasn't careful, she'd start blubbering like a newborn babe.

Gendry lifted his hand to her cheek, wiping away the tears with the backs of his fingers. "You don't have to stop yourself. If you're happy, then enjoy your happiness, Arya Stark. You've certainly earned it."

She shook her head. "I don't want to cry anymore. I want you to love me. Please, Gendry. Just love me."

Gendry nodded. Without another word, he leaned forward and kissed her again, and Arya sighed in contentment. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nudged her hips upward, letting him know that she wanted him to continue his earlier pursuit. And Gendry dutifully obliged.

He began to move within her again, stoking the fires burning deep within her womanhood. He made love to her with grace and tenderness, touching her with a gentle kindness that made her heart ache with love for him.

But it wasn't long before they both lost themselves in the heat of the moment. Arya clutched Gendry's shoulders, her fingernails digging into his flesh, as his thrusts became more frantic. She was so close now. She could feel the tension building up inside her, pulled tight like a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment. She drove her hips against his, meeting him thrust for thrust, determined to reach the peak of ecstasy she had only recently fallen from.

Wild, animal noises escaped her throat as she clung to Gendry. He thrust even harder against her. Once, twice—

The dam suddenly broke, and a surge of unimaginable pleasure coursed through Arya's body, making her shudder and gasp beneath him.

Gendry continued to ride her, sending little tremors of delight radiating from her sex. A liquid warmth filled her limbs as the blood heated in her veins, and she didn't think she had ever felt more sated in her entire life.

A few more thrusts and Gendry spilled himself inside her, calling out her name in a hoarse whisper. Then, he nearly collapsed on top of her, using what was left of his strength to keep himself aloft so that his weight didn't crush her.

Arya's arms went slack around his neck, and she opened her eyes to look up at him. There was sweat beading on his forehead, his coal-black hair slick and wet. He looked thoroughly and utterly spent. He looked exactly the way she felt, and she knew he was as sated and happy as she was.

Without a second thought, Arya reached up and swept the sweat from his brow with the tips of her fingertips. It was an intimate gesture, almost romantic, and she tried not to judge herself too harshly for it. She was a woman, after all. Gendry had proved that. Here, in the quiet of Gendry's bedchamber, she didn't have to hide her true self. She could be gentle and sweet and loving. She could be every bit the lady that Sansa was. She could be everything she was deep in her heart because Gendry would never judge her. He loved her and he knew her, and it was a greater blessing than Arya had ever expected the gods to grant her.

"Are you all right?" Gendry asked, his voice deliciously husky.

"I am now. And you?"

He smiled. "Never better."

Arya smiled too, remembering how she'd used those same words only moments earlier.

Gendry dipped his head, closing the space between them, and feathering a kiss against her lips. Then, without a word, he pulled out of her, moving aside and lying on his back. He didn't invite Arya to join him. No, instead, he just scooped her up in his strong arms and pulled her close, encouraging her to rest her head against his chest.

Arya sighed, her fingers drifting playfully over the lines of his chest. It was hard for her to believe that she was here with Gendry now, that she was the girl in his arms, that she was the one he wanted. He was devastatingly handsome, the most masculine man she had ever met. He belonged with someone like Sansa, someone whose beauty matched his own. But Sansa was in the Great Keep, making love to her dwarf husband, while the most attractive man in all of Westeros was holding Arya in his arms. It was such a strange turn of events, and if Arya had ever doubted that the gods had a sense of humor, there could be no doubt now. Years ago, when she had met Gendry and Sansa had met Tyrion, no one could have predicted any of it. As strange as it all seemed though, it all felt so perfectly right.

"What are you thinking, Arya Stark?" Gendry asked as he lightly stroked her hair with his fingertips, gliding them against her scalp over and over again, making her feel warm and wanted and loved.

"I was just thinking that the gods have an odd sense of humor, that's all."

"Why?"

"Because I, Arya Stark, am in the bed of Gendry Waters. That's why. It's almost absurd."

"Why is it absurd? Because I'm a bastard and you're a lady?"

There was genuine pain in Gendry's voice, and it startled Arya for a moment. She pushed herself up so she could look down at him, and Gendry had no choice but to remove his fingers from her hair.

"I don't care that you're a bastard. I never have. Do you honestly think that I care about that?"

"Why else would the idea of you being in my bed be so absurd?"

"Because I never expected to be in any man's bed, especially not a man like you."

"Like me?"

Arya stared at Gendry for a moment. It was hard to put what she was feeling into words, hard to admit her own weaknesses, but she knew she was safe with Gendry, and she knew she could tell him anything. "Someone as handsome as you. You may think of me as a lady, but I certainly don't look like one, and you could do a great deal better, bastard or not."

Gendry slipped his hand around the back of her neck, holding her in place as he stared into her eyes. "Listen to me, Arya Stark. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Your passion, your courage, your fire, they all make you beautiful. And your eyes," he said, his lips parting in the sweetest smile, "are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, and I could spend the rest of my life drowning in them. You are beautiful, Arya Stark, with your short hair and your boys' clothing and your sword at your hip. You are stunningly beautiful, and I could never want any other."

Tears misted Arya's eyes, but she fought them back. "What do you want, Gendry? From me? What do you really want?"

He moved his hand to her hair again, his fingers gently caressing her dark locks as he continued to gaze into her eyes. "I want you to be my lady. I want you to be my wife."

Arya's heart skipped a beat, nearly freezing in her chest. "I shall be no man's wife. I'm not fit for it."

"Says who?"

Arya shook her head, closing her eyes and leaning into Gendry's touch. A single tear slid down her cheek, and Gendry moved his hand forward, swiping it away with his thumb.

Arya had no choice but to open her eyes again, though she had no idea what she was going to say. After a long moment, she replied, "I could never keep house for you, never be content spending my days doing needlework and running after children. It's not the life I want. It's not a life I could ever live. Not even for you."

"I just want you to be happy, Arya, wherever you go and whatever you do. I'm not looking for a wife to clean my house and raise my children. I'm looking for someone to share my life with, whatever that looks like, whatever that means. I would never expect you to sit timidly by the fire doing needlework," he said, his lips quirking in an endearing grin as if he was picturing that very scene in his head. "I would expect you to spend your days in the yard, training our sons and daughters in combat, while I stand at my anvil, watching proudly on."

Arya laughed. "And who would cook our meals and clean our house?"

"Do you think I don't know how to cook and clean? I was an apprentice long before I was a blacksmith, and my master got everything he could out of me, worked me to the bone. I know how to keep a house better than you do, Arya Stark, and I would gladly do so if it meant you would be my wife."

Arya laughed again, unable to stop herself. She suddenly pictured Gendry standing before a hearth laden with pots and pans, struggling to cook the evening meal while a horde of children ran screaming around his feet. And yet, even in her fantasy, Gendry looked completely content and more than happy to please his lady wife.

"Well?" he asked when she failed to answer. "What do you say?"

"You can't be serious."

"You know that I am. Marry me, Arya, and let the rest take care of itself."

Arya didn't know how to answer him. She was suddenly terrified. In fact, the last time she had felt anything close to such terror had been the day her father had stood before the crowd in King's Landing and been sentenced to death.

"I can't," Arya said, the words passing her lips before she even realized it.

She expected Gendry to ask her why, to push her for a reason, but he didn't. Instead, he just nodded as if he understood better than she did.

Arya broke his gaze, suddenly wondering if she should leave. She didn't want to go, she didn't want the moment to end, but she didn't know what more there was to say. She'd already satisfied Gendry's lust, and she'd turned down his proposal of marriage. What more could he possibly want with her?

Gendry put his hand against her hair again and slowly guided her down so that her head was resting on his chest. Arya knew she should relax, but she was as stiff as a Valyrian Steel sword. She knew she had hurt Gendry, and she wished she could fix things between them, but she was too afraid.

"Relax, Arya," he whispered as he began to stroke her hair again.

She sighed out her frustration but couldn't relax. She loved Gendry. She knew that now. She just wished she was brave enough to give him what he wanted because there was a part of her – a wild, mad, insane part – that wanted it too. She wanted to be his wife, not to cook and clean and keep house for him, but to be by his side, always. She wanted it. She just didn't know if she was ready to take what she wanted.

Arya lay there for a long time, fighting herself. She was certain, if she could just fall asleep, she could bury her feelings in her dreams and never have to deal with them again. Things would be different in the morning, in the harsh light of day, and she and Gendry could go their separate ways without any hard feelings between them.

But it wasn't working. She couldn't sleep, and neither could Gendry. She felt his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek, his heart beating strong and steady. He would not sleep until she slept, she was sure, and she could not sleep until she'd come to terms with what she wanted.

Before Arya could stop herself, she asked, "What would you do if we had babies?" her voice so harsh it almost sounded like an accusation. "Would you expect me to nurse them and coddle them and spend my days in the nursery doing nothing but tending to them?"

"They would have a nurse to do those things, if you could not. You wouldn't be tied down, if that's what you fear."

"I'm certain I would be tied down if I were ever to become pregnant. I would have to stop fighting and just sit by the fire all day waiting to burst."

Arya expected Gendry to laugh, but he didn't. "Perhaps for a moonturn or two, yes, but it's a small price to pay for a new life, don't you think?"

Gendry had an answer for everything. Arya was certain that, no matter how she protested, he would find a way to counter all her arguments. So what was the use in fighting? "Fine. If you want to get married, we'll get married, but only if you keep your promise not to turn me into my sister."

Gendry's hand stilled against her hair, and when he didn't speak, Arya feared something was wrong. She pulled back and looked down at him again, her hand resting against his chest, his heart beating beneath her palm. He was frozen in place, staring at her in silent astonishment.

"What's wrong?" she asked, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice.

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes. I refuse to end up like Sansa. I will not fawn and preen and be the dainty little lady, and you can't make me."

Gendry slowly shook his head, never once breaking her gaze. "No, I mean, do you really intend to marry me?"

Arya sighed heavily, rolling her eyes heavenward in feigned exasperation. "I'm sure you're not going to relent in your pursuit anytime soon, are you? So if I must marry you, then I must."

Gendry didn't give her a chance to say anything more. He quickly pulled her to him and kissed her hard, as if his joy had simply overpowered him. When he finally released her, her lips felt swollen, but she didn't care. It felt good, it felt good to know that Gendry loved her and wanted her as much as he did, and she was never going to let him go.

"Thank you," he said, the sound so breathless she could barely make out the words.

Arya wanted to say something glib, her nerves once again getting the better of her, but she fought the urge. Gendry was going to be her husband, and this was a special moment. She loved him, and he needed to know it before another second passed. "I have to tell you something," she said, "and I need you to promise that you won't laugh at me or push me to ever say it again."

"You have my word."

Arya held her breath for a moment, the words poised on her lips. They were so foreign to her that she felt as if she was preparing to speak in High Valyrian. She had only spoken such words to her family before, but this was different. The words felt different and sounded different when they were spoken to family. There was no denying that.

Arya exhaled a tremulous breath, and then, before she could retreat, she whispered, "I love you, Gendry. I love you."

Gendry stared at her as if he hadn't heard a single word she'd said, but she knew he had. His heart was beating faster against her palm, and his eyes had darkened with disbelief.

For a moment, fear gripped Arya's heart. She had thought that Gendry wanted a confession of love. But now, his silence had her doubting her own mind. Why wouldn't he speak? Why wouldn't he say something? Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she felt the urge to run again.

"Well?" Arya said, forcing her voice to remain steady even though her entire body was trembling. "Say something."

Gendry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He suddenly looked like a fish out of water, gasping for air, and Arya didn't know what to think.

"Are you really so horrified by the idea?" she asked. "Or is it that you don't believe me?"

Gendry closed his mouth and shook his head, his eyes desperate to communicate something his voice could not. He tightened his grip around her as if sensing her intent to flee. It was a small gesture, but just reassuring enough to keep her in his arms.

It took him a moment, but Gendry finally managed to speak. "I . . . I believe you," he said. "I just . . . I just never thought to hear you say those words."

"I'm not a monster," she said. "I do have feelings. I know how to love."

"Yes, you do." His voice was softer but more certain. He snaked one hand up the back of her neck and into her hair, holding her there, staring into her eyes as if he was afraid she would run at any moment. "I just never expected you to admit it."

"Well, I'm sure you never expected me to do this either," she said, glancing down at their naked bodies before meeting his gaze again.

"No, I didn't. When I followed you out into the yard tonight, I was just hoping to talk. I never expected any of this."

"Neither did I."

They stared at each other for a moment, their eyes saying more than words ever could. Arya loved Gendry, though she wasn't entirely sure that she was ready for all this. She feared she would wake up in the morning, regretting every last thing she had done and said. But then, she was no coward, she was a Stark, and the last thing in the world she had to fear was Gendry Waters. He loved her, and while she didn't need him to protect her life, she knew she needed him to protect her heart, and he would do so until his dying day.

Arya didn't know what else to say. She still wasn't comfortable with _I love yous_, and all she really wanted was to snuggle down into Gendry's arms again and fall fast asleep. She leaned forward, closing her eyes and meeting his lips in a gentle kiss.

Gendry entwined his fingers in her hair and deepened the contact, causing Arya's whole body to flush with need. She was already exhausted and didn't have the energy to make love again, but she enjoyed the feeling just the same.

They kissed until they were both breathless, and then, Arya pulled back. She lingered for a moment, staring into Gendry's eyes, suddenly knowing that everything was going to be all right.

Slowly, Arya lowered herself back down onto the mattress and cuddled against Gendry's side. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear, letting it lull her into a deep and sated sleep.


End file.
